


Wolves

by lnles



Category: Divinity: Original Sin (Video Games)
Genre: 5+1 Things, F/M, but like subtle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-25 17:40:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30092718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lnles/pseuds/lnles
Summary: Sebille and Ifan are drawn together by their shared identity as Godwoken, but the more they travel together, the more they find they share. Survivors, warriors, hunters, traitors, and above all seekers of vengeance: they guide each other to an end which no one quite expected.
Relationships: Ifan Ben-Mezd/Sebille
Kudos: 1





	Wolves

Sebille is narrow and sharp like the needle she bears, as blazing and deadly as the trailing ink that embraces her limbs.

Ifan is stocky and immovable if he wants to be, radiating a low and fiery heat that burns or warms as he chooses.

Despite their differences, they hit it off instantly. Sebille knows there is something to Ifan when she watches him confront an extortionist in the rubble of Fort Joy. Ifan’s boldness emboldens Sebille, and she lures the extortionist within kneeing range, ending his family line right there. Ifan knows he likes Sebille when he watches her do this. She and he both know there are some people not worth killing.

They also agree that there are some people who are not only worth killing, but who need killing. When they square up against Alexandar for the first time, Sebille cuts him off mid-monologue, jerking a thumb over her shoulder to point out Ifan. “He has a contract on your life, and I am more than happy to help him fulfill it.”

Ifan smiles at this, that she recalls his work, his plan, and moreover that she’d like to help him check Alexandar off his to-do list. Perhaps wolves aren’t meant to always work alone.

* * *

Reaper’s Coast is a morass of blood and sludge. The rain boils down over the whole party, uncomfortably warm. The unpleasant, slimy heat reminds Sebille of the water she once heated daily for the Master, how much he enjoyed forcing her to pour it over him in small waterfalls. How much he enjoyed forcing her to do everything. How much he enjoyed denying her will in anything.

Thoughts of the Master carry her away, and every creature she dismembers she envisions with his face, his skull breaking under her hands. Let him die, but let him suffer first.

Cushioned in her fantasy, Sebille’s attention is elsewhere when she steps on a loose stone, slick with Voidwoken ichor. With an uncharacteristic lack of grace she collapses, sprawled across the cobbles.

Beast, Lohse, Ifan all roar with laughter.

Sebille is not ashamed to admit the first feeling that rises is anger. She resents their pleasure in her foolishness. But when Ifan offers her his rough-scarred hand, she takes it, and the warmth draws her to her feet like a fast-growing tree.

“Watch your step out here, Sebille. You were at the mercy of that chunk of granite,” he says in a wry-enough tone. His voice hovers in a grey space between concern and humor.

Sebille still has his hand, and she keeps her hold on it, letting Source crackle between their fingertips. “I am at no one and nothing’s mercy. You would do well to remember that.”

“There’s much I’ve forgotten in my day,” he says, looking up at her, honey-brown eyes under dark lashes. “But I cannot imagine forgetting anything of you.”

The stirring in Sebille is an impulse she forgot she had. Desire unfurls for the first time in decades. She lets her hand linger in Ifan’s, one long finger on his pulse. She is gratified to find it racing. “Nor I you.”

* * *

The light in Sebille’s eyes is feral, almost mad. Ifan knows it so well because he wore the same look, just days before, as he drove his blade into Alexandar’s gut once and for all. Sebille holds the head of her Master in her hands, tearing bits of greyish lizard flesh away from the skull and stuffing them into her mouth. Ifan can see the memories wash over her face, all the evil done to her now seen from the other side. It hurts, he’s sure of it, but it’s also driving her to some kind of perverse ecstasy.

All her pain is real. All her hurt is true. All around them, the Seven, Lucian, the Mother Tree, all lies and liars. At least this is true.

She casts aside the flesh-tasseled skull and goes to Ifan, blood running down her chin.

Ifan welcomes her, receives her and the copper taste of her mouth as he would the finest wine in the tavern, the most potent Drudanae he could buy.

The hunger that they sate together is not only a fleshly urge. Together they have an understanding, a commonality that is not quite clear to anyone else.

In each other they taste the sweetness of long-starved revenge.

* * *

When Sebille invites Ifan to follow her belowdecks, she does not look back to see if he follows. She’s certain, and when she enters the small warm cabin the Lady Vengeance has wrought for them, she is pleased by his obedience. She enjoys her power over him for a moment, watching him watch her, feeling his eyes rake over her body, find the places where the flowers and leaves that adorn her might unclasp and fall away.

There is some uncertainty, still, even for her. Will she remember how, after so long? Will he enjoy it, and will she? Will they understand each other as well this way as in all the others?

Sebille needn’t have worried, but the worry did make things sweeter. It returns to her in the midst of it all, their bodies sealed together like a sacred promise, and she almost laughs with delight. To think she had worried.

Ifan shifts beneath her, altering his approach, and Sebille leaves all thought, even worry, behind.

* * *

“I have loved it all. And you.” Ifan watches Sebille’s face, but it is still and cold as ever.

“Even now?” she asks. In her eyes Ifan thinks he sees a flicker, though of what he isn’t sure. “Even as I lead us to death? To the end of Divinity?”

“More, because you dare. When I see you, I know I’m ready to live again. To live a human life.”

Sebille runs a hand down her scar-torn arm, and Ifan traces the same path with his own hand. They are both scarred. “Even when I dreamed of freedom from the Master, I did not dream of this. I did not imagine that I could…”

She trails off, and Ifan waits. He can feel the others’ impatience, pacing somewhere further along the bridge while he and Sebille murmur together in the shadows. He lets the shadows embrace them both, the only light the distant glow of lava and the Source that pulses beneath their skin.

“I did not imagine that I could love anyone. But I love you.”

The words are a spark that catches in Ifan’s heart, and he pulls Sebille to him, lifting her from the ground. Her toes brush the floor and she laughs with a wondrous joy he could not have imagined on the day they met.

Sebille presses her face to the top of his head as he sets her down. She savors the smell of him, the feel of his thick hair between her fingers, the way he can rest so neatly beneath her chin. If they are to die now at the hands of Dallis and Vredeman, Sebille will still be angry, she will still hunger for revenge, but when she finds herself in the Hall of Echoes, she will seek Ifan first.

“To battle then?” Ifan asks.

“Prepare yourself,” Sebille replies, and leads the way.

* * *

Against all odds they do not die. Sebille and Ifan break their enemies beneath their blades and bolts: Braccus Rex, Dallis, and Lucian himself.

When the time comes to dispose of the world’s Source, the two do not hesitate to upend the order of everything. All the world drowns in Source, every person a Sourcerer, and centuries of chaos, creation, and war beckon.

Sebille and Ifan delight in it. 

It is their final revenge.

**Author's Note:**

> This game was great, but the writing of the romance subplots was understandably lacking in specificity, and I wanted to dig around in the fertile region of Ifan and Sebille's commonalities for a while. It was a good time!
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
